


Someday

by Velvedere



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Growing Up Together, M/M, Mjolnir Sex Surrogate, Porn with Feelings, Unrequited Love, minimal plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki casts a tracking spell on Mjolnir to keep watch over Thor when he's out adventuring, with unintended consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this comic panel: http://40.media.tumblr.com/9e5851fcd2d4ec18b3a1b81ad7ed4185/tumblr_nipbmb2IZA1toe9gwo1_400.png

The first time Loki did it because he had been left behind.

Standing between his father’s and mother’s cloaks. The wind in his face pushed back his hair, making his own cloak ripple along his side until he grabbed the hem in one small hand and held it close.

He watched the riders ready themselves on their mounts. Snorting breaths left trails of wispy clouds on the air as the horses shook their heads. Stomped their hooves impatiently.

Leather strained and groaned as it was pulled and tugged and tested. Boots settled into stirrups. Thighs hugged their saddles.

Thor turned his proud, radiant smile to their parents the way a beam of sunlight would slice through the clouds after one of his storms. He sat tall, regal, as if kingship had already been bestowed upon him.

Loki could believe it.

All was ready.

Odin and Frigga spoke a few words. Bestowing their blessings. Their wishes for a good hunt. Then as one the riders turned their horses’ reins to head out.

Thor lifted his chin, confident – a touch smug – as he nudged his horse to follow the rest, the clop of steps falling into neat formation.

Loki contained himself in perfect stillness until his brother moved just beyond his sight. When the sparks of hoofprints upon the Bifrost faded but the distant glow at its edge remained bright.

Then he surged forward, throwing his cloak from his clenched fist as though to be rid of it.

_I want to go with him!_

The Einherjar escort standing near moved too slowly to catch him, though they tried.

His mother called out his name.

The Bifrost was long, and by the time Loki reached its edge in a scrambling mad dash, its glow had already faded.

He stood, looking over the stars of a thousand worlds beyond its edge, gaping before him like an eternity, with the first pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

He looked to Heimdall, whose weighted gaze lowered to meet his, heavy with the age and knowledge of centuries.

Heimdall nodded his great head once, solemn. Understanding his pain.

Frigga swept him into her arms later with comforting whispers and soothing strokes of his hair, while Odin offered only a hardening in the line of his mouth for such an undignified display.

_It will be alright, Loki._

His mother’s voice.

Loki’s small hands gripped the drape of her dress as she lifted him. Carried him home.

_But what if he needs me?_

_They will be safe. Thor will be safe. You can go with them next time._

Never again did Loki allow himself to act out so brazenly.

*****

Of course they returned. Of course they were triumphant. Of course Thor spent the whole of the evening after at the feast tables, relating the story over and over of how he personally slew one of the great Sæhrímnir boars on his own, with the help of no one.

Well, with the help of Mjolnir.

Cheers rose and drink passed all around. Boasts were made and teasing challenges flung through the laughter.

Loki sat in his place at the table and watched Thor glow, held up by candle sconces and the roar of the cooking fires as all light paid tribute to him.

That night, he stole into Thor’s chambers, and found the hammer propped up beside a windowsill.

Thor was careless in where he left Mjolnir. Often he set her down in the most inconvenient places: in the middle of a hall, before the outward swing of a doorway, or on top of a stack of particularly important books used frequently by the scholars.

 _What have I to fear?_ he would laugh. _That someone should steal her?_

Loki did little to dissuade him. Rather, his eye remained sharp, on constant lookout for new places in which they could leave her, then conceal themselves and watch from the shadows, giggling together as much fuss was made about how to get around her unmovable presence.

Thor snored, and did not notice, as Loki knelt upon the windowsill and looked over the hammer in the moonlight.

She was beautiful.

She hummed with a quiet, self-contained power. The sort of power one could only hear in moments of considerate thought.

Loki turned his eyes over the hammer’s silvery sheen, the strong lines and planes of her well defined in the moon’s light. He reached out to touch the runes carved into her surface with his fingertips, unable to help a small, secret smile at the feel of power there. The way it sparked through his hand and tingled down his arm.

Like electricity.

Was that what Thor felt every time he reached for her?

Loki doubted it. In a moment’s stab of jealousy he was certain Thor could never truly appreciate a gift such as Mjolnir. He could not value her the way one could who was better trained in magic, who could see the subtleties and flow of power through her. Who could envision the potential such power could attain.

It made Loki’s heart thrum, like the promise of an oncoming storm.

But he let himself breathe, and the spiteful jealousy passed. He recalled instead the look in Thor’s eyes when he had first set his gaze upon her. When he had first been presented Mjolnir as a gift from their father, and had taken her in his hand.

No, Thor loved her.

And that was good and well and right.

Loki couldn’t lift her. He didn’t venture to try.

Instead he leaned in close and whispered a quiet spell, moving his hand over Mjolnir’s flat head and blunt edges, tracing his touch along the soft leather of her handle.

Green magic sparked in his wake, laying itself along her surface in the form of glowing runes. Bright as starfire until they faded gradually from sight, sinking into the core of her being.

Or as close as Loki’s burgeoning skill in magic could plant them.

It was a simple tracking spell, but it would serve.

*****

The next time Thor rode out across the Bifrost in armored company, Loki did not give chase. He stood quietly by with his mother and father, sedate as they oversaw the riders’ departure, vanishing into the Bifrost’s glow.

Then he stole away to his chambers upon returning to the citadel palace.

From there, a slip into a shadow took him to the weapons’ vault, where he took a cloak made of feathers from its place upon the wall.

He left a dead enspelled bird in its place so the Destroyer would not notice the cloak was missing.

Loki draped the cloak over his shoulders and – using the paths between the Realms he had only begun to explore – followed the way left open to him by the spell on Mjolnir’s trail.

*****

It was a subtle thing at first.

It began in dreams.

It wasn’t unusual for Loki to dream of his brother.

Often, they were dreams of adventure. Exploring the wilds of distant realms and battling exotic monsters they had only before heard tell of in legend.

Dragons and trolls and ancient giants.

Or else they would be dreams of home. Of seemingly small nothings. Playing together in the halls or lakes or gardens outside the citadel. Sitting beneath a tree while Loki read a book aloud.

Always together.

Always triumphant.

In these new dreams, they were flying.

Thor’s arm about his waist. Their fingers linked. Cold wind whipped through Loki’s hair and stung water from his eyes, but he smiled.

He looked to his brother.

Thor, valor and nobility incarnate, framed by stars and the galaxies they left spinning far behind in their wake.

Thor, who smiled to him in return, a look of excitement and love and dangerous joy in the storm behind his eyes.

*****

Every few months, Loki renewed the tracking spell on Mjolnir, weaving into the magic more and more of himself as he honed his skills and sharpened his talent.

More than once the spell proved its worth, as Thor and company were lost in the distant reaches of some inhospitable land.

Often, a falcon led them back.

Less often, beyond Heimdall’s sight and with no way to make contact, Loki headed the search to bring them home, drawn as inexorably towards the hammer as he would be to himself.

He cast his eyes down and gracefully dismissed congratulations later, lightly shrugging one shoulder against the praise that followed.

When asked how he knew where Thor and his party would be, he would only smile, and bow his head, and say nothing.

*****

The dreams began to change.

*****

He and Thor battled together.

Shoulder to shoulder, alone in a sea of black, faceless enemies.

Thor was strength, raw and brutal power.

Loki was finesse, tightly controlled and calculating.

With wide gestures and shouted commands, Loki led Thor through the tide. He channeled Thor’s power through him. Using it. Guiding it.

Lightning and thunder and wind and rain and concussive force.

He was an instrument, a conduit, and Thor’s hands were upon him with the certainty of trust.

Loki spun through the battle and came to face him – his brother – wet from rain and slick with the blood of their enemies. Thor’s eyes were alight as he grinned, feral, and hair and armor clung to his body and never had Loki so envied something as simple as a drape of garment.

Loki fell on him even in the midst of battle, catching his hands beneath the line of Thor’s jaw. Their bodies crushed together and Thor’s arm closed around him so willingly, holding him tight as mouths met and devoured and both their blood cried out to the stormsong as it raged overhead.

Loki woke in a heated sweat, panting for breath, a hard erection pressed against the inside of his thigh.

*****

Loki stood upon the Bifrost again, this time the one to see Thor and his riders off on their journey.

Thor had grown – oh, how he’d grown – no longer mounting his horse with gangly awkwardness and looking somewhat small upon it, dwarfed in cloak and saddle. Now his arms bunched with muscle and he pulled himself up without assistance, settling easily onto the horse’s back with his weight evenly distributed, reins confidently in hand.

Loki folded his arms as he watched, the faintest of smiles hovering light and amused upon his face.

 _It is a fortunate thing Asgard breeds the best horses of any realm._ His voice, light and teasing. _I should feel sorry for the poor beast that must carry you._

Thor laughed.

His laugh was the same. Bright as summer. Thick as rain.

They traded words. Casual. Otherwise meaningless. Only when all other preparations were made and the riders readied did Thor look down to him with a more weighted gaze. Smile softening beneath a brush of sincerity.

 _We shall return._ His promise.

He set his hand on Mjolnir’s haft where she hung loyally from his belt. As if to lend her weight to his word.

He didn’t know the electric jolt such a touch sent searing through Loki’s core. How he disguised it so easily with a breath and a smile.

Loki lifted his hand, waving one last time to the riders’ dark silhouettes before they disappeared in a flash of the Bifrost’s light.

He returned to the citadel alone, shutting himself in his chambers. Issuing instructions to the servants not to be disturbed under the pretense of retiring.

Loki dressed for bed. He lay down beneath the furs and heavy blankets.

And he waited.

It was an unanticipated side effect of creating such a link between himself and Mjolnir, and yet Loki could not bring himself to try and be rid of it.

He had no wish to.

Rather, he reinforced the bond, dutifully and often, no matter how his mother grew suspicious of his habits or how inconvenient such side effects could be, particularly when he was helping his father in delicate negotiations and Thor decided to go sparring.

It began always the same: with a jolt. A spark ignited that uncurled heat through his loins and made him gasp.

Closing his eyes to the dark of his chambers, Loki slid one hand down his body beneath the cover of his blankets. As concealed as a secret. He took hold of his soft prick and held it gently, breath poised on the edge of a gasp, as he knew it would not remain so for long.

Behind his eyes, he could imagine – almost see – too perfectly Thor’s hand as he reached for his hammer.

He could feel the slow glide of his fingers over supple leather as they tightened and took hold.

He could hear the groan and strain of her handle strap as Thor swung her high, let loose the power and intent within him. Became weightless as the storm gathered overhead, answering his call.

Loki freed his breath with a staggered groan and arched his back up from the bed, his erection blooming painful and throbbing. Like the beat of a second heart.

It was always like this. Always when Thor took up his hammer to do battle, Loki felt it. Felt the touch of his hand reverberant throughout his body, whether he was nine realms away or in his own chambers just down the hall, when he would touch Mjolnir idly in the night, reassuring himself of her presence.

Thor had such wonderful, beautiful hands.

_Thor._

His name, whispered aloud in the dark, soft and worshipped.

Loki’s hand closed around his cock and he stroked gently, replacing thoughts of phallic, leatherbound hammers with that of Thor’s hands (though the fantasies did not always run their separate courses). It was he Thor touched, so cherished and wanted, instead of Mjolnir. It was Thor’s hand around his cock instead of Mjolnir’s shaft; Thor’s storm-ridden eyes looking down to him with the same electric power they had always wielded; Thor’s body above him in the dark, whispering a gasp of his name in return rather than a roar for his foes.

Thor’s touch where he was most sensitive.

Thor holding him down, splayed well apart, fingers and tongue preparing for what he meant to give Loki next.

Thor’s breath on his neck.

Thor’s whispering for him to come.

Loki bit his lip to silence the moans rising in his throat as he stroked. Ground himself against his hand. Played his fingertips across his nipples and chest in light imitation of Thor’s tongue, tracing a path to his rear.

 _Someday._ Loki’s vow. _Someday you will look at me the same way you look upon her. The same covetousness. The same love._

Loki stroked himself to release, knowing somewhere Thor’s blood sang with the same electric heat. That his eyes were wide and his body drawn taut with the promise of battle.

He came to rest again – spent, breathless – knowing he was there as well. Always with him. Always at his side.

_Someday..._


End file.
